"Will I do now?" asked Nan, reappearing and stepping lightly into the car.

Roger smiled approvingly and proceeded to tuck the rugs well round her.

Then he started the engine and soon they were spinning down the drive which ran to the left of Mallow Court gardens towards the village.

They flashed through St. Wennys and turned inland along the great white road that swept away in the direction of Trenby Hall, ten miles distant. The kennels themselves lay a further four miles beyond the Hall.

"Oh, how gorgeous it is!" exclaimed Nan, as their road cut through a wild piece of open country where, with the sea and the tall cliffs behind them, vista after vista of wooded hills and graciously sloping valleys unfolded in front of them.

"Yes, you get some fine scenery inland," replied Trenby. "And the roads are good for motoring. I suppose you don't ride?" he added.

"Why should you suppose that?"

"Well"--a trifle awkwardly--"one doesn't expect a Londoner to know much about country pursuits."

Nan smiled.

"Are you imagining I've spent all my life in a Seven Dials slum?" she asked serenely.

"No, no, of course not. But--"

"But country people take a very limited view of a Londoner. We _do_ sometimes get out of town, you know--and some of us can ride and play games quite nicely! As a matter of fact I hunted when I was about six."

Roger's face lightened, eagerly.

"Oh, then I hope you're staying at Mallow till the hunting season starts? I've a lovely mare I could lend you if you'd let me."

Nan shook her head and made a hasty gesture of dissent.

"Oh, no, no. Quite honestly, I've not ridden for years--and even if I took up riding once more I should never hunt again. I think"--she shrank a little--"it's too cruel."

Trenby regarded her with ingenuous amazement.

"Cruel!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's sport!"

"Magic word!" Nan's lips curled a little. "You say it's 'sport' as though that made it all right."

"So it does," answered Trenby contentedly.

"It may--for the sportsman. But as far as the fox is concerned, it's sheer cruelty."

Trenby drove on without speaking for a short time. Then he said slowly:

"Well, in a way I suppose you're right. But, all the same, it's the sporting instinct--the cultivated sporting instinct--which has made the Englishman what he is. It's that which won the war, you know."

"It's a big price to pay. Couldn't you"--a sudden charming smile curving her lips--"couldn't you do it--I mean cultivate the sporting instinct--by polo and things like that?"

"It's not the same." Trenby shook his head. "You don't understand.

It's the desire to find your quarry, to go through anything rather than to let him beat you--no matter how done or tired you feel."

"It may be very good for you," allowed Nan. "But it's very bad luck on the fox. I wouldn't mind so much if he had fair play. But even if he succeeds in getting away from you--beating _you_, in fact--and runs to earth, you proceed to dig him out. I call that _mean_."

Trenby was silent again for a moment. Then he asked suddenly:

"What would you do if your husband hunted?"

"Put up with it, I suppose, just as I should put up with his other faults--if I loved him."

Roger made no answer but quickened the speed of the car, letting her race over the level surface of the road, and when next he spoke it was on some quite other topic.

Half an hour later a solid-looking grey house, built in the substantial Georgian fashion and surrounded by trees, came into view. Roger slowed up as the car pa.s.sed the gates which guarded the entrance to the drive.

"That's Trenby Hall," he said. And Nan was conscious of an impishly amused feeling that just so might Noah, when the Flood began, have announced: "That's my Ark.'"

"You've never been over yet," continued Roger. "But I want you to come one day. I should like you to meet my mother."

A queer little dart of fear shot through her as he spoke.

She felt as though she were being gradually hemmed in.

"It looks a beautiful place," she answered conventionally, though inwardly thinking how she would loathe to live in a solid, square mansion of that type, prosaically dull and shut away from the world by enclosing woods.

Roger looked pleased.

"Yes, it's a fine old place," he said. "Now for the kennels."

Nan breathed a sigh of relief. She had had one instant of anxiety lest he should suggest that, instead of lunching, as arranged, from the picnic basket safely bestowed in the back of the car, they should lunch at the Hall.

Another fifteen minutes brought them to the kennels, Denman, the first whip, meeting them at the gates. He touched his hat and threw a keen glance at Nan. The Master of the Trevithick was not in the habit of bringing ladies to see the kennels, and the whip and his wife had discussed the matter very fully over their supper the previous evening, trying to guess what it might portend. "A new mistress up at the 'All, I shouldn't wonder," a.s.serted Mrs. Denman confidently.

"Hounds all fit, Denman?" asked Trenby in quick, authoritative tones.

"Yes, sir. All 'cept 'Wrangler there--'e's still a bit stiff on that near hind leg he sprained."

As he spoke, he held open the gate for Nan to pa.s.s in, and she glanced round with lively interest. A flagged path ran straight ahead, dividing the large paved enclosure reserved for youngsters from the iron-fenced yards inhabited by the older hounds of the pack; while at the back of each enclosure lay the sleeping quarters of roofed and sheltered benches. At the further end of the kennels stood a couple of cottages, where the whips and kennelman lived.

"How beautifully clean it all is!" exclaimed Nan.

The whip smiled with obvious delight.

"If you keep 'ounds, miss, you must keep 'em clean--or they won't be 'ealthy and fit to do their day's work. An' a day's hunting is a day's work for 'ounds, an' no mistake."

"How like a woman to remark about cleanliness first of all!" laughed Roger. "A man would have gone straight to look at the hounds before anything else!"

"I'm going now," replied Nan, approaching the bars of one of the enclosures.

It seemed to her as though she were looking at a perfect sea of white and tan bodies with slowly waving sterns, while at intervals from the big throats came a murmurous sound, rising now and again into a low growl, or the sharp snap of powerful jaws and a whine of rage as a couple or more hounds scuffled together over some private disagreement.

At Nan's appearance, drawn by curiosity, some of them approached her gingerly, half-suspicious, half as though anxious to make friends, and, knowing no fear of animals, she thrust her hand through the bars and stroked the great heads and necks.

"Can't we go in? They're such dear things!" she begged.